


Sad Hour

by komorebirei, mireille (komorebirei)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Bittersweet, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Minor Chat Blanc Angst, Pre-Relationship, Snuggling, adrienette - Freeform, good partners, post-reveal, season three spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24265453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/komorebirei, https://archiveofourown.org/users/komorebirei/pseuds/mireille
Summary: The building stress of superhero life was enough of a burden without heartache to sap the last ounce of her resilience. Marinette was so frustrated the slightest stimulus probably would have sent her running to the bathroom to cry.Judging from the way Adrien had barely moved for the past hour, his cheek propped lackadaisically on his palm and jotting down a word every so often instead of his usual industrious note-taking, he was in a similar mood.Which meant, they were probably due for one of their Sad Hours.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 22
Kudos: 225





	Sad Hour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lesslinette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesslinette/gifts).



> Hello! This fic is a slightly-belated birthday present for the wonderful Lesslinette! I'm honestly not sure what your fic taste is like, except that you like Adrienette, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you for being an amazing and sweet friend, and a magnificently talented person!

Marinette stared at Adrien’s back and sighed, almost wishing he would hear, turn around, and try to cheer her up. But alas, they were in the middle of class, so she had to keep her sighs quiet. He’d get in trouble if he tried to talk to her, anyway.

It wasn’t a particular akuma or event that had sent her into a funk—it was _everything._

It was the bone-deep exhaustion from night-time and early morning attacks, one after another, like a battering ram slowly taking down their defenses, crumbling their sanity and pushing them to the limits of their endurance.

It was the fact that they seemed to be getting no closer to figuring out who Hawkmoth was, why he was doing all this, and how they could make it all end.

It was the fact that she’d learned a couple months ago (entirely by accident) that it was _Adrien_ under the mask, which did absolutely nothing to diminish her consuming love for him. She longed, more than anything, to let him know how she felt toward him. All the signs—which she obsessively hoarded like a squirrel its nuts—told her that his feelings toward her hadn’t changed after he learned her identity, either.

Except, memories of a frigid blue terrain of water, ice-chip eyes, and a moon exploded into fragments haunted her. She dreamed about it sometimes, and every time she thought about confessing to Adrien, Chat Blanc’s words that it was their _love_ that did this came rebounding in her mind, throwing shackles over her tongue.

Instead, she let the unfulfilled love languish in her heart, eating her inside, with nothing to do about it.

The building stress of superhero life was enough of a burden without heartache to sap the last ounce of her resilience. Marinette was so frustrated the slightest stimulus probably would have sent her running to the bathroom to cry.

Judging from the way Adrien had barely moved for the past hour, his cheek propped lackadaisically on his palm and jotting down a word every so often instead of his usual industrious note-taking, he was in a similar mood.

Which meant, they were probably due for one of their Sad Hours.

They’d started stealing these moments after the reveal. Moments to just soak in each other’s company and _not_ have to pretend that everything was okay. Sometimes they talked about what was bothering them. Sometimes they exchanged complaints until there was nothing left to complain about. Sometimes they just cried. Anything was fair game, but there was no stoicism allowed.

It was such a relief to just be themselves—unmasked, vulnerable, without the pretense of being average schoolkids—and _enjoy_ the fact that they weren’t alone in their double-faced lifestyle. And they always, _always_ felt better afterward, despite the exquisite sting of being so intimate and open yet _still_ unable to say the one truth that beat fervent wings to make it past closed lips.

(And this was the part she would never say out loud, but a good number of her habitual tears were for repressed love.)

When class let out for lunch, Marinette caught up to Adrien on his way out of the classroom. “Wanna come to my place for lunch today?”

Adrien’s face broke into a smile. “I was hoping—I mean, _yes,_ please. I’d love that.”

Marinette grinned. _Hoping._ He was hoping for a Sad Hour too. As usual, they were on a wavelength of their own, and that alone was enough to lift her mood by a smidgeon.

“Look at these two,” Alya commented loudly from behind. “Can you believe they’re not dating yet?”

“Wait, they’re not?” Ivan interjected with what sounded like genuine surprise.

Marinette huffed and took Adrien’s arm to pull him along at a quicker pace. “Sorry. I wish they’d stop.”

“I don’t.” Adrien smirked, matching her steps. “I think it’s fun.”

Marinette’s cheeks burned. She directed her pout straight ahead as they emerged through the front gates.

Tom was attending to customers and gave them a robust greeting when they entered the bakery, ushering them behind the counter.

There, Sabine welcomed them both with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, just out of view. “So nice to have you join us, Adrien,” she bubbled as she pulled his head closer to give him his kiss. “Tom made quiche bites. Do you like spinach quiche?”

“Of course!” Adrien beamed. “Thank you so much, Madame Cheng.”

His smile didn’t falter as they watched Sabine retrieve a tray of mini quiches from an oven where they had been warming.

“How is your father, Adrien?” she asked conversationally, extracting a plate from a cabinet.

“He’s all right,” he answered vaguely, with the same pleasant expression plastered across his face.

Marinette could see tension growing in the corners of his mouth.

“Are you still fencing?” Sabine moved the quiches from the tray to the plate one-by-one with a pair of tongs.

“Ma _maan,_ give him room to breathe,” Marinette whined.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” Adrien attempted to protest, but Marinette elbowed him gently in the side, took the plate from her mother’s hands, and began to lead the way upstairs.

“Take some water for tea,” Sabine urged, pressing an electric kettle into Adrien’s hands as he passed.

“Thank you Madame Cheng!” he returned cheerfully.

Once they were safely in Marinette’s room, they set the lunch items down on Marinette’s desk.

“Okay,” Marinette said, “you can stop smiling now.”

“What do you mean?” Adrien tilted his head inquisitively.

“You’ve been humoring everyone all day, especially my parents. I know you don’t feel like it.”

Adrien’s smile became sheepish.

“Come on.” Marinette opened her arms, and he stepped forward into them, folding her in an embrace.

They held the hug for several seconds before Marinette asked, “Feel any better?”

“You know I could be on the verge of dying and a hug from you would extend my life by ten years,” Adrien sighed. “You?”

Marinette blushed at his words. “Yeah.” She looked away. “Wanna eat on the balcony this time?”

Adrien nodded.

Picking up the platter of quiche bites again, Marinette climbed onto her loft bed and popped open the skylight. She slid the plate onto the balcony floor before hoisting herself up, Adrien following closely after.

The weather was balmy and mild, midday sun warming the surfaces of the balcony furniture, with only a slight breeze to keep the air from feeling oppressive in its stillness.

Moving the platter to the tea table, Marinette took the electric kettle from Adrien’s hands, scooped some loose tea leaves from a small holding pot into the filter, and poured hot water over it. “Help yourself,” Marinette invited, waving at the plate.

Adrien lifted a mini quiche and took a bite, then closed his eyes and sighed blissfully. “Mmm, this is heavenly. Your parents are the best.”

Marinette smiled, pleased that he liked her father’s cooking. There was one minor problem, though. This was their first time having lunch together on the balcony, and she had forgotten to account for the seating. Clearly, _he_ was going to get dibs on the only proper chair, though, if they didn’t both fit—and she was willing to guess they would.

“Are you going to eat standing up? Relax, Chaton.” She pointed at her lounge chair.

Adrien shook his head. _“You_ can sit. I’ll just, um, sit on the wall or something.”

“That’s not comfortable! Believe me, we’ll both fit,” Marinette insisted. “Go ahead.”

“As you wish.” Indulging her, Adrien lowered himself into the lounge chair, squeezing as far into the side as he could. Marinette took the plate and clambered onto the chair beside him, setting the plate on her lap. It was snug, but they did both fit.

“There,” she sighed, handing him another quiche and taking one for herself.

They ate quietly for a few minutes. There was no need to try to fill up the gaps with conversation—comfortable silence was a staple of Sad Hours. Marinette snaked her arm around Adrien’s so their elbows wouldn’t jostle. Soon, the plate was empty, and Marinette placed it on the floor beside the lounge so she wouldn’t have to get up, then snuggled into Adrien’s chest. He extracted his arm from between them and curved it around her shoulders.

“I’m so tired of everything,” she moaned.

“I know—me too,” Adrien murmured, arm tightening around her.

“I felt like crying today,” Marinette confessed.

“Me too.”

Marinette extracted her face from his shirt to look into his eyes. “If you still want to cry—it’s okay. Cry. Don’t hold back.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he held her gaze. He looked more like he was about to laugh than cry.

“What?” Marinette asked, feeling her own face begin to break into an expression of mirth.

“Nothing,” Adrien returned, his lips finally cracking into a broad smile. “I’m suddenly not in a crying mood anymore, that’s all.”

“Well… neither am I.” Marinette smiled too. For the first time that day, it was a real smile, not a pretend one.

“I thought we were supposed to be having a Sad Hour.” Adrien dragged his lips down into an exaggerated pout. “Come on—everything you’ve been feeling today, all that exhaustion, anguish, and frustration—let it all out!”

All his face succeeded in doing was causing Marinette to curl forward, shaking with laughter. “It’s hard to be sad on command,” she chortled out.

“Hey, ow,” Adrien protested, putting a hand between his hip and the metal frame of the lounge chair. “Be a bit more economical with space, Princesse! You don’t have the luxury to curl up like that.”

“Hawkmoth sucks,” Marinette burst out, straightening up. “Am I allowed to say this?—I hate being a superhero. I’m sick of it! I wish we’d never been given these miraculous. I wish sometimes we could just give them to Hawkmoth and let him do whatever he wants to do with them! Oh gosh, I feel horrible just saying that, but—sometimes I wish I could just be a normal teenager and have nothing more than homework to worry about.”

“I know, Princesse. Me too,” Adrien confessed. “Well, homework, and—dating, maybe.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Stop!” Marinette shoved his head gently, cheeks reddening as she became aware of his arms still wrapped around her, and how soft his hair felt against her fingers. He hadn’t explicitly said he meant _her,_ but it was implied, wasn’t it? Either way, she wasn’t allowed to think about that.

“Only teasing,” Adrien said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “I’m happy with the way things are now—I treasure your friendship more than anything.”

Marinette swallowed the small sting she felt at the words, even as her cheeks warmed further at the… _hint,_ not confirmation, that his feelings still hadn’t changed. She didn’t know quite what to say, so she blurted out a shy, “Really?”

“Yup.”

Marinette scooted closer to lay her head in the dip between his chest and his shoulder blade. “I treasure your friendship too. So, so much.”

Adrien shifted his arm into a more comfortable position, letting his fingers hook Marinette’s inner elbow. “By the way, it’s okay to feel like that, Marinette. Sometimes I feel the same way. I know you’d never actually quit or give in to Hawkmoth, but you can always tell me those kinds of thoughts, if it makes you feel better. Nothing to be guilty about.”

Marinette craned her neck up to peer at his face, calm and serene. Not smiling, not frowning, just honest, head still thrown back but his eyes cracked open to meet hers over the curves of his cheekbones.

His acknowledgement and acceptance of her ugly thoughts were a balm to her spirit. She had only half-meant the things she had said, but it felt refreshing to be able to spit out those traitorous thoughts that lurked in the back of her mind, and her partner’s confidence that she would triumph over them buoyed her morale.

“You really think that too, sometimes?” she asked, relaxing against the pillow of his chest again.

“Of course.” Adrien’s eyebrows lowered, bringing a frown to his still-closed eyes. “It _sucks_ that we have to deal with this—we’re only fifteen.” 

“But you know,” Marinette added, feeling the need to inject some optimism, “I _am_ happy that this whole thing brought us together.” She bit her lip. “I’ve never had a… _friend_ as close as you before.”

It hurt her to say the word _friend,_ as if she were enforcing a boundary she wished she could do away with, but such was her lot in life, and she had no choice but to accept it.

Adrien chuckled deep in his chest and sighed. “Same, Buguinette. I’d fight a thousand akumas again to be this close to you.”

Silence encompassed them for another couple of minutes. Marinette felt a sense of vertigo, as if the lounge chair were a boat floating down a river, gently tossed by the current. All the fantastical hopes and dreams she had ever had about Adrien couldn’t compare to this _real_ feeling of fulfillment in his arms. For a moment, the sense of longing stopped aching in her chest as she reveled in the singular result of circumstance, individual and shared suffering, camaraderie, and luck that was their relationship.

If only they could pause this moment and stay in it forever. If only she could let him know she loved him, and they could belong to one another, so that even when their paths diverged, a chip of him could remain in her, and her in him.

But they couldn’t, and soon time would trip on, burying this moment in the wake of so many inevitable, unpleasant events.

The longing seeped back into her heart like a potent poison, infiltrating her veins.

“Now I sort of feel like crying,” Marinette admitted.

“Go ahead,” rumbled Adrien’s voice against her ear pressed into his chest. He rubbed her shoulder.

A tear leaked out and bled into his shirt. Then she thought about the fact that they had these Sad Hours and a laugh bubbled out of her chest again, mingling with her tears. It was wonderfully odd, perfectly _theirs._

She thought he might inquire about her laughter, but instead, he kissed her head, no questions asked.

“I’m glad we have each other,” she said.

“Me too, Buguinette.” His voice was warm as honey.

“You know what? I changed my mind. I love that nickname.” Marinette peered up at his face.

“I knew I’d win you over someday.” Adrien squeezed her, smiling, and wiped his eye with his wrist.

As usual, when they went back to class after lunch period ended, they both felt much better.

**Author's Note:**

> To give credit where it's due, this fic was inspired by a headcanon posted in a server about post-reveal pre-relationship Adrienette having moments where they were allowed to just cry and be sad together, and that some of the crying would be over supposedly 'unrequited' love. It was such a cute idea, I just had to write it. Let me know what you thought. ^w^


End file.
